A Tale Dark & Grimm Read online

  The two children stayed with the baker woman for many weeks. Every day, they ate three enormous meals, plus a snack between lunch and dinner, and one before bedtime. They could eat whatever they wanted, and they did. Gretel shoveled chocolate cake into her mouth continuously, smearing it onto her pink cheeks like war paint. Hansel wasn’t much better.

  One night, as the children lay in bed with horrible stomachaches, Hansel said to his sister, “Do you think this is Heaven? The baker woman does all the work, we can eat as much as we like, and we never have to do anything.”

  “It must be Heaven,” Gretel said.

  Then Hansel said, “Gretel, do you miss our parents?”

  Gretel tried to think if she did or not. But she couldn’t tell. She was too busy eating the wall.

  It wasn’t Heaven, of course. For, as you well know, the baker woman was planning to eat them.

  But she wasn’t a witch. The Brothers Grimm call her a witch, but nothing could be further from the truth. In fact she was just a regular woman who had discovered, sometime around the birth of her second child, that while she liked chicken and she liked beef and she liked pork, what she really, really liked was child.

  I bet you can figure out how this happened.

  When I was little, my mother used to say, “Oh, you’re so cute! Look at those little arms! Look at those little legs! Look at that little tookie!” (That was my mother’s word for my bottom.) And then she’d say, “I’m going to eat you up!” And she said it like she meant it.

  Has your parent ever said something like that to you? Most parents say that kind of thing all the time, you know. It’s totally normal. Just be careful not to let them actually taste you.

  Well, the baker woman’s children tasted so good to her that she decided to spend the rest of her time trying to find others to devour. She liked them nice and plump, so she always made sure to fatten them up before she ate them. Which is why she was treating Hansel and Gretel as she was.

  Why else would she allow them to wallow around all day, giving them nothing to do, nothing to work for, nothing to learn? Why else trap them in a house of chocolate cake and let them eat to their hearts’ content, never warning them that they would become fat and lazy, like pigs in a sty?

  Parents are supposed to help their children to grow wise and healthy and strong. The baker woman was doing the opposite, plying the children with so much food and giving them so little to do that they could not help but become weak and heavy and dull instead.

  Dull enough that Gretel didn’t question when the baker woman asked her to clean out the large, mysterious cage in the back of the house, and then slammed the door shut on her. Heavy enough that Hansel didn’t feel like going outside to see where his sister had gone. Weak enough that, when the baker woman told Hansel that they would be fattening Gretel up for just one more week, and that then they would eat her, Hansel could do nothing about it.

  And then the day came to eat Gretel. “I think we’ll roast her,” the baker woman said. “A little rosemary, some salt, and we’ll put her in the oven for three or four hours. Then her meat will positively fall off the bone.”

  She brought the fat Hansel down to her basement, where there stood an enormous oven. “I need you to check if this is hot enough, sweetie,” the baker woman said. “I’m going to start heating it, and you get inside. When I can smell your skin roasting, I’ll know it’s ready for your sister.” She shoved Hansel inside and closed the oven door.

  The oven became hotter and hotter, and Hansel began to sweat. Then a delicious smell wafted to his nostrils.

  Oh no! he thought. I’m cooking! He sniffed at the air. And I smell delicious!

  But he wasn’t cooking. It just was the remainder of a leg of goose that he’d hidden in his trouser pocket from last night’s dinner and had forgotten to eat before he fell asleep. It was so hot in the oven that the skin was crinkling. The baker woman smelled it, too. She came down and opened the oven door. “Are you cooking yet?” she asked. But Hansel shook his head and took another bite of the goose leg. The baker woman frowned and closed the oven door.

  I probably should have said yes, he thought. Oh well.

  He finished off the goose leg and continued to sweat. Soon, another delicious smell rose to his nostrils.

  Oh no! he thought. Now I’m cooking for certain! He sniffed at the air. And I smell delicious!

  But he wasn’t cooking. It was three strips of bacon that he’d tucked into his socks at breakfast. It was so hot in the oven that the fat was sizzling and popping. The baker woman smelled it, too. She came down and opened the oven door. “Are you cooking yet?” she asked. But Hansel shook his head and ate the second strip of bacon. The baker woman frowned and closed the door.

  I probably should have said yes, he thought. Oh well.

  Hansel finished off the bacon and continued to sweat. Soon, yet another delicious smell rose to his nostrils.

  Oh no! he thought. I must be cooking now! And I smell delicious! just like chocolate cake!

  This time, he was right. He was cooking. And he did smell just like chocolate cake, because he had eaten so much of it since coming to the baker woman’s house. The baker woman smelled him cooking, came downstairs, and opened the oven door. “Are you cooking yet?” she asked.

  But Hansel shook his head. “I don’t think it’s hot enough in here,” he shrugged. “That smell was just some chocolate cake I’d stuffed in my undies.”

  “Not hot enough in there!” the baker woman huffed. “Let me see!” She crawled into the oven, pushing Hansel out of the way. “Feels plenty hot to me!” she said.

  Hansel had crawled out of the oven while the baker woman was crawling in. He looked at her—pink and mean and sweating, sitting in the enormous oven.

  “Hey!” she shouted at him. “What are you doing?”

  Something dim flickered in his food-addled brain. “I’m saving myself and my sister,” he said, “from another terrible parent.” And then he closed and locked the oven door.

  “Hey! Let me out!” the baker woman shouted at him. “Hey, you stupid little kid, let me out!” Hansel stared through the grate on the oven door at her.

  The baker woman began to sweat more. Her face was burning. “I’m sorry!” she cried. “I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I don’t want to die! Just let me out! Let me out!”

  Hansel’s face softened.

  “Please? Please! I could die in here! I could die!”

  Hansel began to feel sorry for her. But he certainly wasn’t going to let her out.

  He walked upstairs and out to the back of the house, where he found Gretel sitting in the dirty cage. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  She looked up.

  “Dinner’s in the oven,” he added.

  But Gretel wasn’t hungry.

  And besides, he was only kidding.

  The End

  Now, that’s not a bad little story. But it is a crime, a crime, that that is the only part of Hansel and Gretel’s story that anybody knows.

  Yeah, yeah, nearly getting eaten by a cannibalistic baker woman is bad. But not nearly as bad as what’s to come.

  Speaking of which, the little kids might have liked that one. Or at least, they probably could have sat through it without screaming their heads off.

  In fact, if any little kids heard that story, that’s just fine. Hi, little kids. But things get much worse from here on. So why don’t you go hire a babysitter, and let’s do the rest of this thing alone.

  The Seven Swallows

  Once upon a time, a man lived with his wife and seven sons in a cozy little hut in the middle of a small village. The sons were strong and good, and the wife was kind and loving, and you would think that they would be a very happy family. And, for the most part, you would think right. But the father wasn’t quite as happy as he could have been. You see, he wished for a daughter more than anything in the world. But since he and his wife had tried for one seven times, and failed each time, he was now resigned ne
ver to get his wish.

  Imagine his surprise, then, when one evening a boy and a girl knocked on his door and asked if they could come and live with him. They explained that they had run away from two different homes together; one where their parents had cut off their heads, and the other where a wicked woman had tried to eat them. The man nodded at them like you nod at crazy people.

  But, they said, when they saw this cozy little house in the center of the village, with candlelight flickering in every window, they decided that it was a better house for a family than either a palace or a cake-house, and that any parents who lived inside would probably love them and not try to hurt them. So they had decided that they would like to live there for the rest of their days, if that was okay with the man and his wife.

  Well, the man was delighted (maybe their heads really had been cut off. So what? Who cared!). He breathlessly ushered in Hansel and Gretel—for that’s who they were, of course—and told his wife to prepare them dinner. Then he ran to tell his seven sons to go to the town well for water for the bath.

  “Who’s taking a bath?” the eldest one asked.

  “Your new brother and sister!” the father shouted with joy. “Now hurry!”

  The boys were puzzled by this, certainly. But they knew their father had a terrible temper when he was angry and were afraid to displease him, so together they hoisted the great wooden tub onto their shoulders and ran to the well.

  The man’s wife laid a steaming plate of boiled meat and potatoes before the children.

  Gretel hesitated. “Will we have to do chores if we live here with you?” she asked.

  The woman was kind but firm when she said, “You will.”

  “And go to school?”

  “Of course!” the woman scolded.

  “Good.” Gretel thanked the woman for the food, and she and Hansel, slowly and not-at-all greedily, began to eat.

  Meanwhile, the father wondered where his new children’s bath could be. For the seven brothers, in their haste not to displease their father, had lost their grip on the tub and sent it tumbling into the well. “He’ll be furious!” the eldest whispered, while the youngest cried, “He’ll beat us for certain!” They crowded around the well, wondering what they should do.

  At home, their father was getting more impatient by the minute. “Where are those foolish boys?” he whispered to his wife as she worked in the kitchen. “Our new daughter and son will be wanting their bath at any moment!”

  When, a short time later, the boys still were not home, the man swore and said, “They are useless! I wish they would all just turn into birds and fly away!”

  At that very moment, in the village, the seven boys turned into seven swallows and wheeled into the evening air. They flew past their house’s kitchen window before disappearing into the nearby wood. The woman saw this and turned on her husband in a fury. But he said it was all for the best, and that they had always wanted a daughter more anyway, and he made her promise never to tell their new children what had happened. For, he said, what good could come of their knowing? Reluctantly, and with tears in her eyes, his wife agreed.

  At first, things were fine in the cozy little house. Hansel and Gretel’s new parents were very kind and always took especially good care of Gretel. But the children soon began to worry. Their new father was happy, but their mother seemed to bear a great sadness with her wherever she went. Gretel in particular loved her new mother very much. She could not stand to see her so upset.

  “Tell me, Mother!” she would say. “Tell me what’s wrong!” But always her mother would pretend to laugh, and shoo her away.

  There were other strange things that Hansel and Gretel began to notice. Their room had seven beds in it, and more than once they asked their new parents what these seven beds were for. Their parents told them it had been a guest room before Hansel and Gretel had come to live there, but Gretel didn’t believe them. “Who has seven guests all at once, and makes them sleep in the same room?” Gretel wondered aloud.

  Hansel was less worried. Once he came upon their new father staring at the seven empty beds in their room with a tear hanging from the end of his nose. But he didn’t know what to make of it. Besides, he was happy to be in a place where your father wouldn’t cut off your head, and your mother wouldn’t try to eat you.

  But Gretel grew more and more uncomfortable living there. She heard whisperings about the town. “Oh, nice children, yes. But such a sacrifice! All seven sons at once!” And she wondered more and more about their new mother’s sadness.

  In time, one of the children of the town told Gretel the whole story, and a few other children, wide-eyed and earnest, confirmed it. Everyone in a little town knows everything about everybody.

  “We can’t live here anymore!” she implored her brother that night. “It’s our fault that the boys were turned into swallows! We must do something!”

  Hansel was devastated. “Aren’t there any good parents in all the wide world?” he muttered.

  “It’s my fault,” Gretel said, for the children had told her how badly the father wanted a daughter. “He did it because of me.” She turned to Hansel. “We’ve got to find them.”

  “What? Who?”

  “The swallows.”

  “How are we going to find seven little birds out there?” he said, and gestured at the window of their room. The gesture was so weak and small that it made “out there” seem utterly unconquerable.

  Gretel didn’t know. But she did know that they had to try. Otherwise her heart would break from guilt. Hansel didn’t think they had any hope of finding them—but he had suddenly begun to worry that this new father would wish him into a swallow, too. So he agreed to go and try.

  When the night was heavy and their new parents were asleep, Hansel and Gretel slipped out into the darkness to find the seven swallows. They walked all night and all the next day and all the next night. “I still don’t know how we’re going to find them,” Hansel sighed.

  Gretel shook her head. But as the sun came up the next morning, dazzling their eyes, Gretel said, “I know! The sun! She sees us everywhere we go. She must know what happened to the seven swallow boys! Let’s ask her!”

  Hansel thought she was crazy. On the other hand, he didn’t have any better ideas.

  So Hansel and Gretel climbed the tallest tree they could find, until they were right up near the sun. They tried to speak to her, but she was too hot and terrible. They had to hide their faces. Hansel tugged on Gretel’s shirt. “I think she eats children,” Hansel whispered. Gretel thought he was probably right. They climbed back down the tree and started walking again.

  That evening, as the moon rose above the trees, Gretel said, “The moon sees us just as much as the sun. And he’s not so hot and terrible. Let’s go and ask him!” So they climbed the tallest tree and got as near as they dared to the moon. The moon wasn’t hot and terrible. Instead, he was cold and creepy. “Fee-fie-foe-fesh, I think I smell child-flesh!” he said.

  Hansel and Gretel hurried down the tree as quickly as they could.

  Yes, the moon really did say that. No, I didn’t think the moon ate people, either. But it says so, right in the original Grimm. And I looked it up. It’s true.

  Scared and dejected, Hansel and Gretel walked on until they came to a beautiful lake that shimmered in the starlight. “We’ve been walking forever,” Hansel said. “We’ll never find them! Can’t we just give up?”

  But Gretel’s guilt was bubbling like a boiling pot inside her. “It’s my fault that our new mother’s sons have disappeared!” Gretel moaned.

  She began to weep, and her tears fell into the shimmering lake. When they landed, they shook the reflection of the stars on the water, waking them from their glittering sleep.

  “Whose tears have woken us?” the stars asked. At first Hansel and Gretel were scared. Did stars eat children, too? But the shining stars seemed far nicer than the blistering sun or the creepy moon. So Gretel told the stars all her troubles.

&n
bsp; “We’ve seen the seven swallows flying,” the stars said. “They live in the Crystal Mountain. You can save them, but it will take great courage and sacrifice. The mountain is months of hard travel from here. If you decide to go, take this chicken bone with you. It will open the door to the Crystal Mountain and let the seven swallows out.” Just then, the children noticed a chicken bone beneath the surface of the water, at the edge of the pool.

  Hansel did not want to go. “Months?” he bleated.

  But Gretel said, “Please, Hansel!” And she grabbed his arm and held it tight. At first Hansel resisted, but once he saw that his sister would not change her mind (and that he was losing feeling in his arm), he reluctantly agreed to go.

  So Gretel put the chicken bone in her pocket, and the two children journeyed for a month and a day, and then another, and then another. They passed through dark forests and sunny fields, blazing deserts and muck-filled swamps. They grew much during their travels and became strong and lean from hardship and perseverance. Gretel carried her smoldering guilt with her always, but it was bearable so long as she knew she was doing something about it.

  Finally they came to a massive mountain range and proceeded through the whipping snow and wind. The peaks of the mountains rose up white and sharp all around them, like the craggy teeth of some stone beast. Above, the sky was pale and clear but so, so cold. Their cheeks became red and chapped, their lips blue with frostbite. Hansel wanted to turn back. But Gretel would not let him.

  After days and days of climbing, they finally arrived at the Crystal Mountain. It was tremendous—the most wonderful thing they had ever seen. Its crystalline crags rose straight up from the ice and snow that lay at its base. Kestrels and merlins twirled around its peaks, screaming to the skies.

  “It’s beautiful,” Hansel murmured, and Gretel nodded wordlessly. “At last,” he said. “I couldn’t have gone any farther.”